


Easier than Geometry

by QueSeraAwesome



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Couch Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Demiromantic Character, Demisexuality, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, M/M, Multi, Pre-Slash, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 15:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3575014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueSeraAwesome/pseuds/QueSeraAwesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maine meets Wash's eyes over the top of Tucker's head. Wash smiles back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easier than Geometry

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "Wash watches Maine and Tucker fall in love"

Around the time people start filtering out is around the time that Wash realizes he hasn’t seen Tucker in a while. and given the number of beers he was over par, it’d probably be a good idea to locate him. He begins searching rooms, calling goodbyes to people as they head out, party drawing to a close

Wash peeks through Maine’s open doorway. Double-takes. Stares.

Maine’s seated at his futon-couch in the corner, but that’s not what makes Wash double-take. He’s used to this. Maine sometimes needs to get away from the people, have a quiet moment. It’s expected.

No, what’s surprising (and maybe pleasing) Wash is the fact that Tucker’s sort of sprawled on top of him, like he’d flopped down onto the couch without noticing Maine was on it, his knees in Maine’s lap.

Maine’s looking at Tucker and the sight puts a hitch in Wash’s breath.

Wash assumes Tucker’s asleep but then he stretches, languid and beautiful, and Wash covers a smile by propping his arm against the door (but Tucker is a sight when he’s drunk, all easy smiles and reflexively licking his lips, his limbs dropping their usual tension into a peculiar kind of inebriated grace).

“Hey, hey, Maine, you know what?” Tucker asks suddenly. “You know what?”

He rocks to sitting, straddling Maine’s lap as best he can without falling over. He hasn’t noticed Wash yet, eyes intent on Maine’s face.

“You know what?” he says.

Maine waits patiently. Tucker pauses, trying to herd his drunken sheep of braincells into forming the next sentence.

“You,” Tucker says, waving a finger under Maine’s nose. “Are _one big fuck_.”

Maine nods solemnly. Wash can just make out the crinkle around his eyes that means he’s amused. Tucker begins to list to one side and Maine catches him, keeping him upright with two large hands cupping his hips. 

“You know what else?” Tucker asks, sitting back, settling into Maine’s grip. Wash forces him to look up from the way Maine’s finger tighten (not too tight, not as tight as he _can_ grip) where his shirt’s begun to ride up, keeping him from tipping over backward. 

When it seems like he’s not going to continue, Maine grunts, interrogatory. 

“I like you,” Tucker says, all at once. Like he couldn’t wait to say it, or possibly like he was unsure of how his tongue worked. “You’re, like, _cool_.”

The corner of Maine’s mouth turns up.

An ache is spreading through Wash’s chest, the kind of sweet ache you never want to go away. He wants to join them on the couch, join them, but this moment is theirs, so instead he leans his forehead against the doorway, keeps watching silently.

“I don’t usually like people,” Tucker goes on. His head is beginning to droop towards his chest. “S’a surprise. Usually. Like, _whoah._ People are there and you get to know them and you’re like _whoah_. Y’feel?”

Maine nods.

“Like ‘em for a night, you know?” Tucker continues. His head continues its slow journey, tucked toward his breastbone,and he isn’t listing backward anymore. “But not, like, like-like. Like-like. Fuck, I sound like my kid.”

Tucker snorts, the force of it nearly toppling him over. Maine does his best to steady him, but Tucker falls forward anyway, forehead coming to rest against Maine’s chest.

Maine meets Wash’s eyes over Tucker curling into his chest, nuzzling into the muscle there. Both corners of his mouth turn up. His eyes are unguarded, wide open to Wash, that sweet ache echoed back to him. Wash smiles for them both.

“S’nice,” Tucker murmurs. “You’n Wash are nice.”

Maine makes a pleased rumbling noise, the one that reminds Wash of a happy tiger.

Tucker sighs, content. After a long moment he starts to snore.

Maine keeps looking at Wash, looking away only to maneuver Tucker back to lying down, knees across his lap again. Wash crosses to sit on the bed across from them, watches Maine’s hands clasped on Tucker’s knees.

Together, they watch him sleep.

*

The only thing that could possibly make it better happens about thirty minutes later. Maine reaches for Wash’s (fresh-from-the-cooler) beer bottle, wraps his fingers around the neck and presses the edge of the base against the exposed side of Tucker’s neck.

Tucker shrieks like an exploding cat, nearly kicks Maine in the face and spends the next hour bitching, but it’s totally, totally worth it.


End file.
